Lingering Sentiment
by orangawesome
Summary: In this war that was screaming madness, the bearer of the chrysanthemum was haunted by the wolves of Mibu. Japan & Shinsengumi. Ghost Fic. 1945. Historical


Summary : In this war that was screaming madness, the bearer the chrysanthemum found himself haunted by the wolves of Mibu

Fandom : Axis Power Hetalia & any possible Shinsengumi adaptation. The imagination belongs to you too! #wink

Character : Japan (Kiku Honda), Okita Souji, Kondo Isami, and others. (In case you're not familiar with the Shinsengumi, continue to read anyway, I'll make sure I gave you proper description.)

Rating : T (for Historical plot)

Genre : Supernatural, Historical

Warning : Historical Inaccuracy, Grammatical errors (Sorry, I'm not native speaker^^), mention of Indonesia

If slight nausea, migraine, sudden heavy-ness in chest was felt, please stop reading this fic to prevent further harm

In case you're confused, the flow of events will be:

-Around March, near the war of Grand East Asia Pacific (How do you say, _Perang Asia Timur Raya _in english? o_o)

-No certain time, but after the first event

-Before the attack of Pearl Harbor

-After Hiroshima-Nagasaki Bomb

-August, Independence declaration of a certain nation

-Present day

Disclaimer: Hetalia Axis Power and The Shinsengumi were mine! Go! Sue me now! Mwahahahahaha! *cough *cough #slapped

Enjoy~

* * *

::Lingering Sentiment::

Jet black hair, barely brushing past his ear, with bangs hanging just above the eyebrow. Yellow skin, slanted eyes. He's not short, for Asian. Not for those huge Europeans Just like most of his people. He was not a young man, even he looked like one. For, he _is_ the youthful personification of Japan.

He left the banquet early that night. Those noises, heat, and sickening smell finally getting into his nerves. He quickened :his steps when he reached the corridor. It was very quiet, unlike the hall downstairs where the banquet was held. He could hear his own steps echoing to the walls. Too loud to his liking.

He came to a halt in front of the huge poster plastered to the wall. The 3A propaganda. Written in capitals, with glaring red paint. His strategy for the upcoming war.

_NIPPON TJAHAJA ASIA_

_NIPPON PELINDOENG ASIA_

_NIPPON PEMIMPIN ASIA_

He frowned a bit. He still felt unfamiliar with the language. _Japan, the light of Asia. Japan, the protector of Asia. Japan, the leader of Asia_. He stare into the poster. _This thing would work, would it not?_ Meh, as if someone or something would actually answer it.

Suddenly, he felt a puff of air on his neck and his hair standing on its end. He snapped his head to the side. He was supposed to be alone. But he wasn't. Did he fail to notice the person's arrival Perhaps that person was there from the beginning, gazing at the posters, just like him. But, how could that happened? Did the blood from all of this years weakened his sense? Maybe he was just simply drown in his own thought.

He examined the person who was standing next to him, staring at the poster with a fleeting look. He blinked once, twice, then flashback came, flooding his mind. Now, he know exactly why that person felt familiar to him.

Captain of the 2nd division of the Shinsengumi, one if his best swordsman Nagakura Shinpachi. Japan took one step back, taking the ex-captain into a full view. Why was he here? Nagakura Shinpachi was supposed to have a happy ending. He left the shinsengumi, that was twisting and turning with conflict at the moment. He set a journey and managed to found his long lost daughter. He even had a chance for a walk in the park with his grandson, while writing about his days in shinsengumi. And finally died of natural causes, in a very old age. Hopefully, in peace.

At least that was what Japan had in mind about the person. Now, he doubt the last part of his theory, about the "in peace" thing. The soul who rest in peace won't linger in the human world. Especially, with his younger form. The form when he was bothered, and concerned. His physical form when he left the Shinsengumi.

After a moment of awkwardness, at least on Japan's part, He fidgeted a little._ What bothers you, Shinpattsan?_ As if on cue, the ex-captain shifted his gaze from the poster, straight in to his eyes. Bore a hole into his head, and read everything on his mind as he did so. Japan suppressed an urge to cover his face in embarrassment.

But the ex-captain dropped his gaze shortly afterwards. Before giving him a sad, pleading smile, with an unspoken question latched to it, _what have you become?_

Japan does not need a voice to deliver the question, he got it at once. He didn't have any answer for. Even if he had one, he had no guts to say it. His feet was rooted to the floor, while watching the ex-captain's retreating back, before it was engulfed with darkness and gone.

_Shinpattsan, I...don't know. I don't know what am I becoming into._

* * *

Japan retreated back into his room as soon as the meeting is over. However, he was surprised to see someone sitting on a chair in front of his desk, with his back facing him. The man wore a light colored _gi_ and a darker_ hakama_. He was well built, somewhere around his forties perhaps? His black hair done in a samurai style that he had not seen for quite awhile. Men these day won't bother taking care of long hair, so they shaved it instead of tying it up.

Who is he? An acquaintance? His underlings? If that man was someone from the government he would've been downstairs, solving whatever his business is (or are) with his secretary. Except when it was a very important business Oh shit, what now? The end of the world? Those people keep considering the smallest scratches as one. They obviously won't let him rest! Japan pinched the bridge of his nose. His headache was back. Better made this quick, then. He coughed politely to announce his presence, to get the man's attention.

He became speechless as the man turned his head. Happiness flood over him, and his lips tugged into a small genuine smile. That smile did not last long because worry was spreading into his entire system a few seconds later. Born in 1834, died in 1868 at a public execution. The commander of Shinsengumi, Kondo Isami, greeting him with a wide smile. _Ogenki desu, ka?_

Japan dragged his feet across the room and sat on his chair in the other side of the table. He gave a nod, _genki desu_. Kondo raised an eyebrow, but give no further silent interrogation. Japan sunk deeper onto his chair, feeling slightly uncomfortable. He could not stand to look at the man's eyes.

He felt a jolt running through his body when Kondo grabbed his hand and pulled it from his side, laid it on the table, palm facing up. With a gentle movement as if his hand was made of some extremely valuable porcelain. Kondo placed a neatly folded red fabric on his hand. A flag.

Recognizing the item, Japan's eyes shot into the man's deep, dark, restless irises. The man smiled, a soft serene smile that reached his eyes and made it looked glassy. Kondo leaned forward slightly and whispered, "_makoto."_

Japan blinked, Kondo was gone. But the flag wasn't. Weighing the palm of his hand. Is it real? He looked at the flag, neatly folded and all. He knows what was written in the middle of it, written in white. He knew the word well. Too well.

_Makoto_. Truth, sincerity.

Is that a reminder? A warning? Suddenly he became tired. Very tired. Fatigue had found its way into him. His head was pounding. But his heartbeat was constant, and his breath was even. Maybe he just need some rest. Yes, a sleep sounds good.

He put the flag onto the table. Still neatly folded, he rested his temple on it. Feeling the sensation given by the-not-so-smooth material. He folded his arms on his laps, under the table. Few seconds later, he fell asleep in that table. Somewhat comfortable in the awkward position.

* * *

The strategy room was empty. Everyone left two hours earlier. It was late and everybody was tired. But, Japan could not sleep. Something about the plan of attack troubling him. He got a feeling that this plan would slap him in the future.

He frowned when the light was slightly blocked, announcing the sudden appearance of a taller man near him. Everybody was restless, was it not? Did anybody managed to pass into the afterlife? He doubted that.

"You can tame dog with food. You can tame men with money. But nobody can tame the wolves of Mibu." The figure leaned next to him. And speak to him with a hoarse voice.

"I am not a wolf, Saito. You live long enough to prove it." Japan replied weakly and plastered a grim smile into his lips. The figure shook his head and made a disapproving look. Before he flickered away and disappear.

Japan sighed. Saito Hajime, the lone wolf of Mibu. Mysterious and reserved as always. That man was complicated, his people or not, he never got to understand him. Until the very end. But he knew that Saito was just trying to cheer him up, with his way of course.

Japan hefted himself up. It seems like he still had the old day's spirit after all. Thanks to that man to remind him that. Oh, he was getting used to this.

The faint beeping of electrocardiogram and soft thud made by dripping water from the faucet made a great harmony for the injured man lying down on the hospital bed. Japan blinked several times. The sterile, white wall was nauseating. He actually had an idea to sit and surveyed the area, but he shoved it to the back of his mind at once after remembering what made him enter this place.

6 August 1945, The US dropped a nuclear bomb at Hiroshima. Followed by Nagasaki 3 days later, 9 August 1945. Those were more than enough for him. The US was a relatively young nation among them all. He knew that the young nation might do something a little bit too much one day. He even had _feelings_ about this earlier. No big surprise, meh.

Being a nation, he could heal much faster than the normal human. But still, with that _kind_ of wound he had to stay for quite a while. And getting stuck in the hospital was extremely boring, his sore limbs didn't help at all. He could only stare to the ceiling and to the window next to him for now.

Japan grinned when he remembered Saito's visit. He had doubted the man's loyalty for his country at some point of his live. But it seems that he deserved more credits than that. Thinking about loyalty remind him of a certain someone who stubbornly fought a losing battle and died because of it. While keeping the pride of those who had fallen, sacrificing himself for it. Japan admired him sometimes, the demon vice-commander Hijikata Toshizo.

Speak of the devil, leaning against the frame of the window, surreal and translucent His figure flickered, not being able to hold it's solid form. Japan noticed that Toshizo would've been there since dusk. Japan could feel the other's presence in his sleep.

The sun set about an hour later. Japan shuffled uneasily. Toshizo's figure stayed still, boring holes into his head by glaring at him. The silence was unnerving. Japan forced his body to sit, and failing miserably, cringed because of the pain. Toshizo broke his eye contact, shifting his gaze to the side and spoke solemnly. As if reminiscing an oath.

"Though my body may decay on the island of Ezo. My spirit guards my lord in the east."

Japan freeze in his attempt to sit down. He gave the him a nod and an approval smile. Then let himself collapse on the bed, closing his eyes. He felt the ghost's presence diminished, before disappear completely.

Japan opened his eyes, found no one in sight. He let a small smile slipped and lull him to a sweet, fleeting dream.

* * *

The flag had not move an inch since the last time Japan overslept in it. He picked it gently and spread it in one swift movement He observe the red fabric. White triangle pattern on one side. A word, written in white in the center of the flag, stark against the red background. Glaring straight at him. _Just like the old times_. He could feel the embarrassment creeping inside his chest.

Japan was not supposed to even look at this flag. Let alone touch it, or overslept in it for that matter. He was unworthy. A dark and dirty soul. Full with lies, dishonesty, insincerity. Twisted by fate, drowned in sins, walked through the path of blood and betrayal, and found himself lost in the end. He was anything, but truth and sincerity. The word, _makoto_, he doesn't deserve it. Not even in the first place.

He draped the flag on one arm. He was fingering the outline of the character when red blotches started to form on it. The stains spread through the pores. As if it was oozing from a fresh wound. Within seconds the word written in white was gone, blending with the red fabric that was it's background.

The smell of steel against water. The overpowering scent of iron, weighed the air in the room. The liquid that was now dripping from the flag to the floor, Japan recognized it instantly as blood. He lowered his hand, the end of the flag sweeping the floor. He lowered his head. His eyes staring past the flag, into nothingness.

Yes, Japan was filthy. Hell yes! He was fucking filthy. But what he was supposed to do now? Are there any atonement for his sins? S_eppuku_ surely can't solve anything. Suddenly, Japan felt a hot breath upon his face. And snapped his head up to the violet cough that followed. Only to be greeted by a pair of blazing amber eyes.

Hovering slightly above him, half floating. The man's haori swayed wildly because of unknown wind. Blue sky, white cloud, promise to reach the clear sky of the peacefull era. It was stained mildly with blood that it was hard to distinguish the original color of the clothing. Black hair, long and straight, some plastered to the man's cheek with blood.

Even in his worst nightmare, Japan have no idea that he would visit him in _this_ form. Drenched in blood from head to toe, even with no gaping wound or scar evident, it should've been another swordsman. Perhaps someone from sengoku, or anyone else. But not _him_. Not his lovely, humorous, children loving captain of the first division, Okita Souji.

Okita hold a sword with his left hand, stifling his cough with another hand. Japan literary froze as some blood slipped from Okita's hand and splattered onto his cheek, before dripping into his white uniform. His breath hitched in his throat at the word that was uttered by Okita in between his cough. "_Aku_." The voice of katana being unsheated slashed through the air.

Japan closed his eyes, waiting for the next word. He could feel the hatred radiating off the spirit, taunting him. Promising a long, painful torture to embrace his body. And that was exactly what he wanted. He could see Okita gripped his katana with both hands, positioned it in front of his stomach. It's tip pointed dangerously upon Japan's neck. "_Soku_." A hiss, this time louder.

Okita pulled back his left shoulder, and moved his left foot out. That made him look like he took a slanted stance. He growled, "_ZAN!_" as Japan closed his eyes. He let the flag fell into the floor with a faint splash. Ready to embrace the attack that was about to come. Ready to be slain. Ready to redeem his soul, to seek atonement for his sins. Ready to be reborn to the next life.

But it was not sword that pierced Japan's body, but a strong gush of wind. Hugging him close, suffocating him. Between the unseen element, he could feel soft material fluttering merrily, contrary to the merciless wind. The material was small, caressing his cheeks, enveloping his body, cool against his skin. Sakura.

Japan opened his eyes abruptly He was still inside his room, perfectly neat. No wind, no petals of cherry blossom. No restless spirit of his former warrior, coughing and drenched in blood, pointing his sword at him. But there's still a red fabric lying on the flag. Fortunately, not dripping in the stale scented liquid.

Japan bent and picked it up. Spread it with both hand in the air. It is not shinsengumi flag, with "_makoto_" written in white in the middle of it. He's looking at a simple rectangular flag, divided into two, red at the top, white in the bottom.

_Red meant brave, and white was holly._

So, the new nation had been born today. Congratulation.

Japan fell into his knees, clutching the flag tightly. And let his emotion freed by the tears falling down his face into the flag, dampened the fabric. Sadness, anger, remorse, grief, desperation, fear, _guilt_.

* * *

The sun was high in the sky, the birds chirped happily outside. But Japan couldn't see nor hear it since he was...well, inside, pacing furiously. He glanced nervously at the clock and sighed. He had been waiting for nearly an hour, the boy was always late. Perhaps, being gifted with cheerful nature and never-ending supply of almost everything made him a little lazy. Japan frowned at the thought.

Actually, Japan was surprised his relationship with the newborn nation was this..._good_. It was not until a century after the event had passed. The boy seemed to hold no grudge against him. Three and a half year was a short time period compared to three hundred and fifty years, but he knew that the boy did not forget about what he had done to him. The boy just have an amazing ability to overcame the memories, to mend his scar. If not, then he won't be sitting here. In his office at the boy's embassy, waiting for him to pop and deal with the project he was happily chattering about yesterday.

Japan heard a light knock from the door. He doubted that it was the boy he was waiting for. Maybe an office boy, or someone's secretary. Japan opened the door and blinked at the pat in the head he suddenly received.

Yamanami Keisuke chuckled slightly at his reaction. Japan tilted his head upwards, then greeted him in a proper bow. Yamanami's hand nudged his shoulder, gesturing him to let him in. Japan took a few step back, leading Yamanami into the nearest chair. Suddenly, Nagakura Shinpachi burst into the room, dragging a grinning Todo Heisuke with him. Japan saw Harada Sanosuke tailing the two. So, the joker trio was here.

The three engulfed him in hugs and ecstatic handshake. They were smiling so wide that Japan afraid they would accidentaly split their face into two. The trio was laughing, smiling, grinning, poking him here and there. He could hear Yamanami's laughter from the sofa, blending into the three's. Japan unconsciously smiled along them.

Japan snapped his head to the left when he heard a grunt. Hijikata Toshizo leaning at the wall, giving him a playful smirk. A proud look flashed upon his eyes. Next to him, propped against a windowsill, Saito Hajime giving him an approval nod with an amused face. Japan gave a grin at them.

When he finally could let go of Shinpachi, Heisuke, and Sanosuke's hug, he realized that someone was standing at the doorway. Kondo Isami stood casually, holding a hand of a child around 9 years old. Kondo was smiling at him as usual. He let go of the child, who took an uncertain steps toward him. Japan automatically kneel to reach the boy's eye level. The boy stopped in front of him. Surveying his condition for a moment, giving him a questioning look as he did so. Their eyes met for a brief second. The boy grinned at once, glomping him in a bear hug. The boy was Okita Souji, cheerful and mischievous as he is.

No blood, no tears, no shady room, no hatred, no anger. Just a room radiating happiness and relief, like when old friends gather. Japan stand up, still holding a clinging Okita who buried his face in the crook of his neck. The other occupants of the room circling him, now silent. Okita retreated from his position tugging Japan's shirt, asking to be let down. Japan put him down, his gaze locked into Okita's twinkling eyes.

All of sudden, Okita shoved a katana into his face. The kid smiling widely, put his pearly wide teeth into view. Japan blinked. Kikuichi Norimune. Kiku-Ichimonji. A very valuable sword that was dubbed to be Okita's. Which was classified as missing.

Japan took it from the child's hand, weighing it on his palm. He gave a reassuring smile to Okita, then tucked the katana into his belt. Japan knelt once more, touching his head into Okita's forehead and ruffled his hair. Okita giggle, giving him a one final hug before running into Kondo's side, clutching the man's hand and tugged his sleeve, asking him to go.

Kondo gave him a proud smile and a farewell bow. Japan returned it with a low bow. One by one the spirits left the room. Hijikata gave him a pat on his shoulder. Saito bowed at him. Shinpachi punched his arm playfully. Sano and Heisuke pinched his cheek, he yelped, they just laughed at him. Strolled into the doorway. The door closed behind them. Japan felt the euphoria seeped out of his system, and the air of loneliness tugged his heart.

His trance was broke by hurried knock at the door. Japan glanced at the clock. Two and a half hours late. He's not surprised. He opened the door and put on a blank face.

"_Mas_ Japan, _maaf_ very much! There's a traffic jam, and I got trapped in it." A boy in a suit, with tan skin and slender build. Curly dark hair framed his face. "Please, don't be angry. I brought something with me." The boy lifted his hand, showing a basketball sized yellow-ish colored fruit, with strong scent and was covered in spines. Japan winced. "I'm not planning to be late, really! Please don't cancel the project." Said the boy in pleading voice and watery eyes.

"_Ie_, I'm not angry and I won't cancel the project. Just...come earlier will you, _Indoneshia_-_san_?" the boy nodded repeatedly. "By the way-" Japan eyed the fruit, "-what is that?" The boy perked up almost instantly.

He gave Japan the biggest grin he could possibly made, "It's durian, and you gonna love it! Trust me!" The boy bounced past him, into the room.

Japan stayed in the doorway, listening to his deceased warrior laughter at the hallway. Japan closed his eyes, smiled and took a deep breath. A strong sweet scent stabbed his nose. He turned his back in haste, watching in horror as the boy fiddled with the fruit using a knife and his shoe.

"_Indoneshia-san_! What are you doing?!"

* * *

So, what do you think about it? Pleeeease let me know!

I'm new and This is my second fanfic and I BELIEVE that i screwed things up

Review, please . (I accept flame too btw!)

Owari

_BvRN, 2013__  
_


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